Monday, October 15, 2012

Aftermath: The Dawn of a New Error

After participating in the Bicycling Fall Classic the Sunday before last, I was in desperate need of some de-Fredification. Therefore, this past weekend I selected a rugged all-terrain bicycle and sought terrain upon which Freds fear to tread, by which I mean "dirt:"

At this point various commenters usually heckle me for my choice of grip, but if being comfy is wrong then I don't want to be right:

I suppose people think grips like this are "dorky," but if I was worried about people thinking I was a giant dork then I wouldn't be riding a bicycle.

Anyway, as a busy person who has to juggle watching up to five different compelling television series a week, I don't always have time to venture far from home in order to de-Fredify myself in the wilderness. Fortunately though we now have Cunningham Park in Queens, which offers far more entertaining off-road riding possibilites than its suburban location would suggest. The only real problem (besides all the broken glass) is that, as the day wears on, certain sections of the park do become thick with people in velour tracksuits who think that the granny gear/small cog combo is the optimal gear selection for any terrain. I always try to be polite when riding behind such people, waiting patiently for a safe opportunity to pass. Unfortunately though what inevitably ends up happening is that they sense that someone is behind them, turn around to see, and then fall down with all the grace of a triathlete.

Of course, the real key to cycling is preparation, and as I injected my pre-ride EPO into my scranus I couldn't help but think of this whole doping shitstorm--which, like any severe weather event, has had both positive and negative effects. On the plus side, "Saturday Night Live" used it as an opportunity to bring back Jean K. Jean. ("You ever be at a fête and throw down some gruyère?") On the negative side, it's emboldened people who nobody gives a shit about to confess their own EPO use. Sure, those affidavits from the likes of David Zabriskie and George Hincapie were pretty juicy, but now we're hearing from this guy:

Basically, he's a fun-run bottom-feeder (or, if you prefer, a "Foot Fred"):

Hesch, a self-described “profligate road racer,” said that over two years, beginning in August 2010, he injected himself with EPO 54 times before an empty EPO vial was found in his bag and he was reported to antidoping officials. In that time, he won nearly $40,000 in prize money in more than 75 races, including international competitions, United States championships and local road races.“You get a little money at one race, maybe $1,500 at another,” Hesch said. “And it adds up quickly.”

Who turned to EPO after a bike crash:

This job does not come with workers’ compensation. In May 2010, Hesch was cross-training on his bicycle along Highway 1 in California between San Luis Obispo and Morro Bay when he was hit by a car.“It was one of those instances I should have been dead,” Hesch said.He picked himself off the road and received only six stitches to his left elbow, a few deep bruises, minor road rash and a dislocated shoulder. He was able to walk away from the accident but was not able to train adequately for nearly five months.For the fall racing season, he decided he deserved some extra help to get back on track.

For the most part I was unmoved by this tale of somebody who refuses to get a real job, though I was interested to learn that apparently one side-effect of EPO is that it causes extremely arrogant victory celebrations:

Easing into the finish chute in his Team USA jersey, Hesch stopped a foot away from the finish line, laid down on his stomach on the road, took a whiff of the asphalt centimeters from his nose and performed five push-ups, a pre-victory celebration.With Lemma sprinting toward him, Hesch smiled and got back on his feet. He broke the finishing tape with his hands above his head.
What a douche.

Sadly, the cycling world will probably refuse to acknowledge one of the most important revelations to come out of Shitstorm 2012, which is that virtually all of this bicycle marketing is complete fiction. For years sponsors have attributed rider performance to the layup and modulus of their crabon or the "beefiness" of their bottom brackets. These claims are often humorous enough on their own, but when you think about them as you read a sworn affidavit in which your favorite rider reveals how he changed blood so often it was like the "Signature Service" at Jiffy Lube (and just as slipshod, too) it all sounds totally absurd. I'd like to think that the scandal will usher in a new age of admitting that all of these bicycles are pretty much the same, though unfortunately the consumers and the press will continue to embrace the concept that the crucial difference between winning and losing is an oversized headtube or a squiggly fork.

Nevertheless, being terminally naive, I continue to hold out hope that one day race bike ads will look like this:

Insouciant fixie guy's riding style is par for the course here in the People's Republic of Davis, except he should be sending banging out a text message with both thumbs, and his ears should be plugged by earbuds...

Freds do tread on dirt. They are delusional roadies whom Chrass Cramichael or some other schmuck (no personal inference intended) from Bicycling told to cross train or "mix it up" in the "off-season". They avoid technical terrain like the plague and debate power-training off road. I have witnessed this firsthand and it is highly amusing.

40 years seperates Merckx win of TdF in 1971 and Cadel's in 2011. There was less than 1mph difference in average speed. All that technology, all that investment in training, all that crap. 1mph. Multi-billion dollar industry built on the idea that your 8,000 dollar bike is better for you to ride because it's faster than a custom 2,000 bike. Garbage....

Popped some wheelies on the 'ol 'cross machine for the kids this weekend. My fulcrum was not oriented correctly. Flat on my back. Clipped in. ON THE PAVED TRANSITION ROAD TO THE DIRT. I'm pretty cool. At least people were in their yard to see my glorious dance with the macadam.

speaking of rube goldberg, a single speed mountain bike? explain that one to me. aren't you supposed to ride it in the mountains where gears just might come in handy? I can see you heading down a 5% decline peddling that thing like a clown bike.

speaking of freds, is there anything in this world more ridiculous that fat, old freds with shaved legs? I was out mountain bicycling this weekedn and I saw two fat, old dudes passing me very slowly (going the opposite direction) who both thought that they were serious enough about the biking that they could justify shaving their legs. I am pretty sure they don't race and they certainly aren't getting regular leg massages from their personal swan-yer. Pathetic, just pathetic.

Anon makes an important point - the most pressing problem in cycling is not lance armstrong - it is fat freds. When did cycling jerseys start coming in portly? If you stop at every Krispy Kreme on your ride you are in trouble. Once the fat fred has ruining the imagine of cycling worse than all the hispters in Snobby's building, we will never be able to ride without shame.This is not a save the whales moment. It is more like a kill the damn cycling whales. We have our hobby to consider. Ever try to pass a fat fred on a Cat 6 race against a granny? Nasty stuff!

"In May 2010, Hesch was cross-training on his bicycle along Highway 1 in California between San Luis Obispo and Morro Bay when he was hit by a car.

He picked himself off the road and received only six stitches to his left elbow, a few deep bruises, minor road rash and a dislocated shoulder. He was able to walk away from the accident but was not able to train adequately for nearly five months."

What a sissy.....I usually get injuries like that, just warming up for an industrial park Crit.

The last time, I had to take 5 months off, I was dead for two days before I got up...

I was going to hack your system to let you know that I programmed with a Commodore 64 and my father was a nuclear physicist, however I thought it might be more fitting to challenge you to a 'race off' in the park.

You ride that silly stainless Ritte 'faker jack' machine.I will ride a 'gracefully hand built work of art', that btw I designed and searched the world over to find a factory that could meet my demands of freaky-ness.

My bottom bracket is well lubed and I wear a size 13 shoe in case you want to be impressed.

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About Me

While I love cycling and embrace it in all its forms, I'm also extremely critical. So I present to you my venting for your amusement and betterment. No offense meant to the critiqued. Always keep riding!